November 2006 and the postman turns up with another six envelopes for the WDs, this time to support H Squadron 1st Royal Tank Regiment on Op Telic. Although the call up wasn’t unexpected we had a matter of three weeks to sort our lives out before we were off for mobilisation at Chilwell.
The six of us, 2Lt Sparrow, Cpl A Wilson, Troopers Nim, Condon, Rahman and I, arrived at Chilwell, a place with as much glamour as dinners in a Tesco canteen (the canteen was in fact was the most exciting thing about the place). The whole place acts as a factory with a conveyor-belt of stands where reservists are processed and packed up ready for deployment. After a few dodgy medical issues were resolved (I’m still not sure why Condon’s urine said he was pregnant) and we’d managed to hit enough targets on the range to at least scare any unfriendly locals, we were packed off for two weeks’ intensive training.
OPTAG training is designed to scare the hell out of you. Within the first half day we’d been told how we were going to die in about eight different ways. What a jolly lot. On the positive side, we had our first real interaction with the RTR and the troops who we’d be deploying with. The RTR seemed to make a special effort to integrate us, and despite the prospect of what now seemed an inevitable death we felt more at ease, and (almost) ready to go.
A brief period of pre-operational leave followed when we were lucky enough to attend the WDs’ ladies night on our last evening, It was made even more special by the fact the Condon had managed to get us rooms in the Waldorf. Zippy Rahman and Condon shared a room, which might possibly explain Condon’s previous pregnancy. It was truly a prefect send-off.
The following day we were off to RAF Honington, leaving in the early hours on the start of our long trip to Iraq. After stints in various planes, trains and automobiles we arrived (slightly nervous) in Basra airport. A Merlin was ready to take us on the final leg to our base in Shaiba Logistics Base (SLB). Now it doesn’t matter where you are, you can’t help but get excited about helicopter rides.
So our first sight of Basra was at night from an open helicopter. We were surrounded by the engine noise, hot gritty air and chaff exploding around us. I thought those explosions meant we were being fired on at first: scared the hell out of me. The city, illuminated by fires, seemed a desolate place made up of mostly slum areas and made you wonder why people would fight over it.
Finally we made it to SLB and integrated with H Squadron 1RTR. After a night or two in a sewage-flooded tent the WDs were separated into various Troops and accommodated as such, and after the mandatory briefs (reminding us the various way we were going to die) we started our tasking. H Sqn’s first task was to look after the detention centre. For the next few weeks we were babysitting some of the most appalling people you can imagine. The work was quite dull and all happened inside the wire but was a nice gentle introduction to life in Basra. We were still on this tasking at Christmas, and after a surprisingly enjoyable Christmas dinner my Christmas evening was spent on a watch tower alone eating chestnut pâté from a tin which had kindly been sent by (then) Cpl Rowe, whilst watching the festive mortar display put on by the locals for us.
For the next couple of months H Sqn were made responsible for the security of SLB. Our time was split between 48-hour stints in a watch tower, trips to Safwan Hill (a rebroadcast station), guarding the perimeter, and training. Whilst we WDs did our best to stay in touch with each other, the integration into RTR had meant we had been placed in separate troops and with varying working patterns most of our time was spent with the regulars who were gradually (if sometimes reluctantly) accepting the odd and often unexplainable reservists. Our friendships with them were certainly growing, along with our confidence in ourselves and their confidence in our abilities. Letters and parcels from home kept up morale (and Lucy Pinder became a goddess!), and we found interesting ways to entertain ourselves.
For the second half of our tour H Squadron was to be split up. Zippy, Nim and I were to be sent up to Baghdad to provide protection for General Lamb, whilst Mr Sparrow, Cpl Wilson and Tpr Condon were staying in Basra to protect the various convoys down south.
Three bricks were going up to Baghdad, each containing sixteen people with four per vehicle. In my brick I was given the role of troop medic (mainly because I had dealt with a car crash in Basra: being a STAB you always have to prove yourself before the regs will trust you). Zippy and Nim were to be gunners for their bricks. After more training we flew to Baghdad using a mixture of planes and helicopters.
Baghdad was an altogether different place. Much more like our understanding of a city: more built-up, with a proper infrastructure, and a different type of enemy. We’d moved out from tents into portacabins in what seemed more civilised surroundings inside the green zone. We even had a bar (though we weren’t allowed to drink there). My last three months’ duties were split between providing escorts for General Lamb, collecting supplies from Baghdad airport and guarding the British base within the Baghdad Green Zone. Although the locals were often less friendly and more likely to have a pop at us (and often did), life in Baghdad did have its benefits compared with the conditions down south. Although patrols out were pretty nervy, we were rarely gone for more than a few hours at a time. There were the American bases to which we would make excuses to visit to “acquire” their plentiful and exceptionally calorific food supplies). With so few Brits up north we were left alone to entertain ourselves, setting us chess tournaments and fitness competitions. The weather also picked up, rapidly reaching the 30s and beyond.
Our time gradually came to an end. The Irish Guards came to take over from us and we slowly packed up. We handed over responsibility and, after a final trip to the airport, we bid farewell to Iraq. A stop-off in Cyprus for a debrief turned into euphoric celebrations as we were reintroduced to our old friend alcohol after a six month forced separation. The reunion was emotional. The WDs were also reunited and swapped tales of our adventures. We made the final leg, slightly hung over, back to Blighty. It was now all over. The week that followed was spent in blissful and much-missed sleep.
